


Interim

by dietplainlite



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, First Time, His Last Vow, Post Reichenbach, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/pseuds/dietplainlite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’ve been thinking about how much angrier we get at the people we love.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interim

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lono](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lono/gifts).



The question came one evening while John was forcing him to go through receipts.  As usual, it came in the form of an unfinished statement instead of a question. 

“So,” John  said, pushing his chair back and feigning nonchalance, as if he hadn’t been building up to this all evening. As if it weren’t the very reason he’d forced Sherlock to go through this ordeal on the third Friday of the month instead of the last Thursday. “Molly Hooper.”

“Molly Hooper,” Sherlock replied, not looking up from the wad of paper he was untangling.

“Yes.”

“She’s a person.  Works in Bart’s lab.  Short.  Rather pert nose.  Allergic to tomatoes.  Shall I move on to her CV or has an actual question been rattling around your brain all day?”

“We never really got a chance to talk about it, with all the excitement, but, erm, you said Molly helped you fake your death.”

“Yes and I explained to you exactly how.  The real story. “

“Right. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about this a lot, obviously.  No, shut up.  I’ve been thinking about how much angrier we get at the people we love.”

Sherlock clutched his chest and leaned over.  “John, I think my stitches have popped and I need to go to hospital immediately.”

“It’s been three months, Sherlock.  Your stitches dissolved ages ago.  Anyhow.  That day in the lab, when your drug test came back.”

“Yes, the day I was _shot_.”

”The day you were _slapped_. Repeatedly.  By Molly Hooper of the tomato allergy and the ‘rather pert nose.’”

“Getting shot hurt considerably worse.”

John inhaled aggressively, closed his eyes, and released it in a whoosh.  At least some good had come of couples counseling.

“Sherlock.  The point I am trying to make is that people don’t just hit people like that unless there’s some sort of…history.”

“Yes, Molly Hooper has historically been in love with me for quite some time.  If this is the result of a day’s worth of thinking, John, I’m seriously considering putting an ad in the Sun for a new partner.”

“But that’s the point.  Molly has had feelings for you for ages. I knew it when I first saw the two of you together. And I’ll admit that’s probably the only time I’ve figured something out ahead of you.  But you’ve been an arse to her more than once and she’s never reacted like that.  Called you to the carpet more than once but  never resorted to violence.”

“Well she did risk a lot helping me, John.”

“I still think it was a bit outsized.  Her reaction. You don’t have to tell me if anything happened, but now that she’s single again.  No, sit down.  I hate to break it to you but she’s not going to be that way for long. She started dating Tom six months after you ‘died.’ Didn’t take long without you there to cock up all her relationships with your demands. I’d say even if Lestrade  isn’t finally over Isla enough to finally get off his arse and give it a shot, there’s more than one person out there who’ll come and snap her up.  And if I’m way off the mark you can take the piss out of me about it for the rest of our lives. But if I’m right, well.  Not all of us are given second chances, okay?”

Sherlock looked at his friend for a long moment.  “Before you get to the stack of receipts from Lola’s Bakery I feel I should explain that it was an experiment.”

* * *

 

Long after John left—he and Mary were trying living together again, though John really only slept there—Sherlock sat in his chair, replaying footage in his head.

It had been nothing, really.

It could have been more.  He’d imagined at least ten different scenarios in which it was more, and he’d read Anderson’s ridiculous theory involving a bungee cord and hair ruffling.

All right. It had been quite a bit more than nothing. Just not a huge something.

God, now he sounded like one of those inane pop songs Mary likes to listen to while baking.

Really, though, it had happened so quickly.  He should have been embarrassed at how quickly it was over. Clumsy and fumbling, half dressed. He might have even _cried,_ and he’d had to bring her off with his fingers after he’d come. 

But she’d kissed him so sweetly afterwards, and told him that she understood it wasn’t a promise.  She’d put her hair back in a ponytail and washed up in the grimy safe house sink.  She’d put her hand to his cheek and smiled, briefly and sadly, before standing on her tip toes to kiss the mole on his neck.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she’d said. And she was gone.

Sitting in his chair, he felt a twinge in his chest. It happened still sometimes.  Probably would for a long time. Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped it around in his hand.

John was right, of course, as he was more often than Sherlock would ever admit.

But some second chances take precedence over others.  And some people are better protected from afar.

“Later,” he said to himself.  In the New Year.

He put the phone away.

 


End file.
